


Guilty

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cookies, Eric Cartman has feelings??, Guilt, M/M, Mutual Pining, sprained wrist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:58:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Cartman strolled along the sidewalk with Kenny by his side, rubbing his sore nose and jaw that ached from Kyle’s fist.





	Guilty

Cartman strolled along the sidewalk with Kenny by his side, rubbing his sore nose and jaw that ached from Kyle’s fist. 

The aftermath of their fights always seemed to have a routine to it: Marsh’s overemotional, hippie self would coddle Kyle’s hurt feelings, so kiss-ass that he might as well get on his knees, suck his dick and get it over with. 

Metaphorically, of course.

Kenny walked him home, as usual, and attempted to make shitty conversation. Attempt being the key word because Cartman wasn’t exactly in the mood.

“You both fucked each other up pretty badly, huh?” 

Kenny’s screwed up converse were making an irritating scratch against the sidewalk, and Cartman felt like yelling.

“Pick up your shoes, dipshit.”

He can very clearly see the blonde shamelessly glaring at him from his peripheral view, but he stared straight ahead anyway. There was a few minutes of silence that made him feel weird and distanced but he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to go away.

“Alright. I get that you two love to get your fight on or whatever, but... don’t you think you both went too far this time?

Cartman stopped walking and stared at Kenny through squinted eyes.

“What makes you say that?” Cartman scoffed, his hands shoved into his jean’s pockets. “It’s not like this was any different...”

“I’m pretty sure a sprained wrist makes this time different,” Kenny explained with a chilling nonchalance that made his heart drop to the floor.

“Huh?”

“Stan texted me like ten minutes ago. He said that Sheila had to pick them up and go to the hospital.” 

Cartman tried his best to remain expressionless but he was pretty sure that the worry that was quickly filling up his chest must have affected his face somehow. Was he too caught up in his maddened state to realize that he really hurt Kyle? Had he really gone that far? 

By now the sun has set, leaving a dark blue sky that was still covered in clouds, no stars peeking out to comfort him. And with no protection from the cold weather that seemed to appear out of nowhere and the sudden news that he seriously injured the Jew, he felt stupidly cold and the urge to shiver like a fucking baby.

Kenny nudged his shoulder playfully and began walking again. Cartman mindlessly followed, eyebrows still furrowed.

“Don’t feel too bad, man. Kyle did a pretty number on you too.” Kenny said with amusement, gesturing towards his dried up bloody nose that hurt like a motherfucker.

Cartman snapped. “Fuck off.” 

He kept his eyes cast downward for the rest of the walk.

Maybe God is real and on his side, because the timing was perfect and they were finally in the driveway of his house. Cartman didn’t bother saying goodbye or even taking a second look back at Kenny. He instead walked up to his front door, slammed it shut, and shot up his staircase -- collapsing onto his bed with an audible creek of the old wood board. 

Mentally and physically exhausted, he stared up at his blue greenish ceiling, and wondered what the actual fuck was going on because there was an unfamiliar feeling building in his chest. His reckless and stupid mind wandered back to the vivid image of Kyle, laying on the dirt-ridden blacktop with tears in the corners of his fiery bright green eyes, and Cartman can’t help but recall the feel of his small frame underneath his thighs. 

Kyle is a Broflovski and so of course he is painfully stubborn, to the point where he wouldn’t dare let his infliction stream down his cheeks and would rather keep them pooled up in his eyes. 

What really stuck the nail in the coffin was that even lying on the floor, defeated and red-faced and puffing for air, Kyle looked fucking perfect. 

He was undeniably in pain, in which Cartman now knew the extent to. But that didn’t stop his curly fire red hair, tousled and messed-up, from spilling into his face in the most alluring (and most dangerous) way. Cartman remembers when that same thought popped into his head, years and years ago when they were just kids, in the middle of some useless fight that he can’t even remember what was about. 

With love -- no, no, no, not that word. Rather infatuation, there are only two ways that it can go. You either end up with that person for the rest of your life, or heartbreak of the worst kind takes place.

So of course Cartman tried to suppress his emotions, bury them six feet underground to never see the light of day. It made perfect sense to. His mother had raised him to be a man of logic and to never let his sentiments get to him and he wasn’t about to let her down now.

Besides, even if one day he manned up and managed to confess to Jewboy how he truly felt, there was no way in heaven or hell that his feelings could ever be returned. Cartman was smart enough to know that much, as Kyle had made that perfectly clear by now. So he found solace and comfort in getting him riled up instead, pushing his buttons to get him angry, but the adrenaline wore off quicker from when they were kids and he was left with this shitty, gay feeling of longing something impossible.

Cartman covered his face with his pillow, and allowed himself to scream into it until there was no more breath in his lungs. Liane, in a sweet concerned voice asked him through his locked door if he was okay, but he chose to ignore her. Precisely what he is trying to do about the growing situation at hand, in which he feels his control slipping away from his fingertips. And really, if he was being realistic, there is nothing worse than having no control.

“Fucking shit…” He whispered under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair.

Cartman leaned over to his bedside drawer, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He brought one to the corner of his mouth, lit it up, and took a slow tantalizing drag. Kyle always threw a fit whenever he smoked in front of him, fussing up when he would blow clouds directly in his face, leaving him coughing and red and an adorable little sneer on his face. The stupid Jew was part of the reason why he took up smoking in the first place. 

Everything always seemed to lead back to Kyle.

Cartman rolled his eyes at himself. He felt like he was in a melodramatic scene of some shitty movie that Stan would watch, lying in his bed and basking in the moonlight and nicotine. But Cartman also felt like Kyle did earlier when he was knocked on his ass: Helpless. Helpless because of the fleeting feeling that is sitting in the bottom of his stomach, painfully heavy and apparent. A feeling that he has never, not once, felt before -- besides a few exceptions but this time is different. And Cartman wants nothing more than to forget about it.

Because it was Kyle, Kyle fucking Broflovski, the redheaded Jew that he was supposed to hate, was the one making him feel this way. 

Guilty, with nothing to show for it except the cloud of grey smoke that hazed his vision.

\-----------------------

Cartman wakes up in the morning. Same usual shit, but he sort of prayed and hoped that the overwhelming guilt that he felt last night would just go away, but it somehow just got worse. He groaned and wiped away the drool on his cheek from last night. He changed into clean clothes that were folded on his desk before opening his bedroom door and heading downstairs. 

He grabbed his keys off the coffee table, and was about to walk out the door when he heard his mother’s distant voice.

“Eric, honey, where are you going this early in the morning?” Her voice was far away, probably in the kitchen making breakfast like she usually did.

“Uh, the store.”

Liane peeked her head out the kitchen doorway and smiled. “Would you mind bringing some milk back, sweetie?”

Cartman silently nodded and was on his way.

\------------------------

Three hours later, Cartman found himself outside of Kyle’s brown wooden door that he knew way too well, for better or for worse. This is such a pussy move, he thought to himself. Only because he had a tupperware case of home baked cookies in hand that he usually reserved for his mom and Kenny, and yet he was standing on Kyle’s welcome home mat like an absolute idiot.

It was afternoon-ish and usually around the time when Kyle tutored little assholes about stupid math problems. His mom would probably be home and no one else so Cartman could just drop the ‘peace offering’ off and leave. He rang the doorbell with his thumb and took a couple of steps back. It was a long couple of seconds before the door squeaked open, and Cartman’s heart dropped in his chest when he saw a mess of red curls that didn’t belong to Sheila.

“Kyle?”

“Cartman…” He had the door inched open only a little, not fully, and a questionable look on his face. A hand was gripping the opening of the door.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Kyle asked.

“What are you doing here?” Cartman repeated. As his grip on the tupperware was getting slippery, he realized just how bad of an idea this was.

“In case you haven’t noticed dumbass, this is my house.” 

“I thought you had that tutoring job at the library, no?”

“Couldn’t go because of your fucking tackle, asshole. You are really heavy, you know that?”

Kyle fully opened the door, and Cartman’s heart panged at the horrifying sight. His arm was in a bright green cast that was… not pleasing to look at.

“Ummm...” Cartman scratched at his eyebrow and cleared his throat silently, an itchy feeling crawling up his throat.

“That’s one hell of an ugly arm cast-“

“What’s that your holding?”

Cartman eyes averted to the tupperware and he lifted it up slightly. 

“Oh, this? Nothing, it’s nothin-“ Kyle leaned forward and snatched it out of his hands, opening the top before Cartman could shove the box behind his back. He watched with pursed lips as Kyle’s face changed from angry to a very confused expression. 

“Cookies? For who?” His red eyebrow was cocked and Cartman's heart skipped over a few beats. 

“Nobody!” 

Kyle glared at him, then down at the box, then back at him again before his face softened with realization.

“Are these for me?”

“No,” Cartman replied quickly, way too quickly. “Um, yes? The hippie made them and I was just the poor delivery boy, forced upon his will.”

Kyle smirked, just a bit to where Cartman could see his teeth before rolling his eyes. “Stan doesn’t know shit about baking, but okay.”

With the way Kyle was staring at him, Cartman could have swore he could see right through him. And God, those fucking eyes. He had always been very expressive, either with his body language or the tone in his voice, and with the uncertainty and surprise glinting in bright green, Cartman felt like his knees would give out any second now.

Kyle looked at him for a moment more before bursting out in laughter, which was definitely a cause for concern based on the weird fucking situation at hand.

“You are such a bad fucking liar!”

Cartman could practically feel the heat flared upon his cheeks, and at this point, just wanted to get the hell out of there.

He flipped a middle finger lazily. “Yeah, whatever, believe what you want to believe, Jew. I’ll be on my merry way.” 

He had already turned his back and was on his way back to his truck when he heard Kyle call out to him.

“Hey!” Kyle yelled, which stopped Cartman abruptly in his tracks, and he turned around with a confused expression on his face.

“Um, I’m playing video games,” Kyle pointed a thumb behind his back, gesturing towards his living room. “...and I sort of need a second player, Ike is at a hockey game right now.”

The corners of Cartman’s lips lifted, and he placed a hand on his chest with endearment. To Kyle, it may have looked sarcastic and fake but the fucked up part was that it very much wasn't. 

“Is that an invite, Broflovski?”

The redhead smirked, tilting his head slightly before repeating his words.

“Believe what you wanna believe, Cartman.” 

He returned Kyle’s grin, slowly walking back to Kyle’s front porch and stepping inside his living room after him. As he shut the door behind them, his chest tightened with something familiar and comforting and warm.

It may have been a stupid gesture on Kyle’s part, a meaningless gesture maybe, but for Cartman it was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Kyman! I hope I did a good job portraying the characters right, especially Eric. That kind of character is tough to write 'correctly'. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and stay tuned, I'm planning on writing more!


End file.
